


Familialis

by Ladycat



Series: Shadow'verse [13]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, post-Gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles’ head shot up, gaping at her for the barest moment before his lips tightened and he reached up for his glasses. “Am I doing something to bother you?” he asked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familialis

The Magic Box was quiet over the summer. It wasn’t that they had no customers, because they did: a steady stream of people wove themselves through the aisles before arriving at the counter to buy or sell or just ask questions. But no matter how many customers there were, the noise level just never seemed to raise very high. Like everyone subconsciously knew to be respectful to those who were still in mourning.

It wasn’t really mourning so much anymore, though. Weeks bled into months and pretty soon they were hanging back to school signs and offering deals for teachers. Petrified or Mummified Apples were a very brisk seller, particularly the kind that did things to students who picked them up. Not just the ooky things that Tara quickly weeded out after they realized it, but the kinds that forced students to always tell the truth or to obey the teacher in school-related stuff. Dawn didn’t think either of those were on the sunny side of morals and legality, as Willow often said, but then, she was the only one who’d figured out what exactly they did.

Giles must not have looked closely at that box when he ordered it.

Dawn liked to sit above the main store, books spread out over her crossed legs, just watching. Spike always teased her about it, calling her mini-Watcher. The others didn’t really notice so much, because she only got a few comments to be careful as she went up and down the narrow step ladder, and once an admonishment not to touch the more dangerous books. Like she was ever doing _that_ again.

Spike probably guessed what she was doing up here, pretending to do her summer school work. He never spoke to her about it, but they didn’t require speaking to understand stuff about each other. Tara always laughed when Willow complained, saying that she and Spike just thought a like and there really wasn’t much to be done about it. Or to get upset over, but that never stopped Willow.

Or Giles.

Dawn studied the floor spread out below her, tracking the elusive figure that flitted and vanished whenever she looked away for too long. It’d been a long time since she could really think about someone other than herself. It wasn’t selfishness, she told herself, but a natural part of the grieving process. Or so Willow’s self-help books claimed and Dawn was happy to steal justifications out of it to try and assuage some of her guilt. Because she _was_ guilty. Buffy had left Dawn to her friends, that was clear. But Dawn was totally convinced that in a weird, twisted way, Buffy had left her friends to _Dawn_ , too—and Dawn had been slacking in her care for the past few months.

So she sat up on the ledge, legs crossed into the lotus position Tara had taught her, and she watched the interactions below her. It was different, watching this way. When she was down on the floor, or at home, she was always in the thick of things, too busy thinking about herself to really see around her. This gave her the distance to start _watching_ , the way Buffy’s friends should be watched. Dawn started with Xander, her eyes automatically tracking to him after weeks of habit. She used to worry about him the most because he’d just lost _three_ of the women he loved most in the world, and that was enough to make anyone crazy. Dawn knew about the marriage proposal, something he’d confided to her in secret a few weeks before. She’d cried so hard when he told her that he thought the ring was half the reason she’d finally left...

But he was fine, now. Well, not _fine_. None of them were fine. But he was helping a little boy maybe seven or eight years old who was shyly looking for something ‘pretty’ for his mother. Dawn loved it when she got to watch Xander with kids. He was so paternal, so good and patient with them no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or made faces at his friends. With her increased maturity, Dawn was pretty sure that was why she’d had a crush on him for long—he had this way of looking you in the eyes, that said you were the most important thing around and he would do anything to make sure you were happy and comfortable. It was ... nice, to be under that much attention. It was kind of scary, too, though, until you got used to it.

Habit dictated that Dawn look for Tara, next, but Tara wasn’t there right then. Tara preferred working the morning shift, when Willow was at school, and usually showed up at the Magic Box around four or five to help out and talk about dinner. She called that three hour break her meditation time, despite the fact that it was really _cleaning_ time. At least, that was what Dawn had thought until one day she’d snuck back home to watch. The house had practically throbbed to the lilting voice of Sheila Chandra, Tara drifting in and out of rooms. She was cleaning, yes, but she did so with her eyes half-closed, whispering along with the often incomprehensible words, occasionally gracefully pirouetting as she cleansed body and house at the same time. Dawn was very grateful that Tara hadn’t noticed her; there was something so personal about what Tara had been doing.

Without Tara, though, Dawn was finally free to look at the _other_ Scoobies. People she shouldn’t refer to as _other_ , at all. Both of them were behind the counter, allowing Dawn to watch them not only individually, but together. Willow looked even teenier against Giles’ tall, lean body, her red hair almost blinding after its most recent color change. She was busy, expertly rolling various purchases into bubble wrap or pretty paper or just the bags Dawn helped design. She didn’t like that particular job, Dawn knew, but Willow never once asked to work the register. Actually ... Dawn leaned forward, her book digging into her stomach. Willow wouldn’t even go _near_ the register, going well around it whenever she had to get something on the little ledge next to it. Like ... she was afraid of it?

That made _no_ sense. Willow wasn’t afraid of anything, not even Glory!

Her face was drawn and pinched, too, Dawn noted. It could’ve just been a busy day at school or a particularly tough object to wrap—why didn’t everything come already boxed?—but Dawn didn’t think so. Oh, not because she had the mad observational skills, either. Xander and Tara had had a quiet conversation a few days ago about Willow, and Dawn had heard the worried tone of their voices easily enough even if the words had been more elusive. So something was up with Willow and that was just _not_ supposed to be. Willow was Buffy best friend and that made her Dawn’s responsibility.

There were just two problems with that. The first was that Dawn had no idea how to help Willow. The second was Dawn wasn’t sure if someone else didn’t need her help, more.

It was all Dawn’s fault, too. She had always known that, but up until a few weeks ago, she hadn’t been able to care. _Nothing_ was going to come between her and Spike, especially during those first few weeks when everything had been so raw and awful and only Spike could make it any better at all. But she wasn’t hurting so much anymore and while she still needed Spike, she could be a little more rational about it, now. She could see that by protecting her time with Spike, she’d pushed Giles away from her—and that had done something very bad to him. Dawn wasn’t sure what it was, but the symptoms were pretty obvious. He stopped coming over for the family dinners he was always invited to. When he did, his clothes were rumpled and smelled musty. He didn’t shave as much as he needed to, and instead of the spice-clean scent of his aftershave, there was something sickly and heavy that hung around him. Dawn didn’t like that smell at _all_ , pointedly wrinkling her nose whenever Giles got too close to her.

Except that didn’t seem to be working, because now Giles wasn’t coming near her at all.

Dawn sat and watched for the next hour, doing her best to note everything she could about Giles. She focused on him to the exclusion of everything else, so much so that when five o’clock rolled around and Xander flipped the sign, she started so badly she fell over.

“You okay, Dawnie?”

“Fine! I’m fine!” Hastily righting herself, Dawn hurried down the ladder and over to where he and Willow were watching her anxiously. “Hey, Xander? Willow? Can I help Giles close today?”

They exchanged looks, so _exactly_ like the implanted memories of her mom and dad that Dawn had to stifle a grin. “Well,” Willow said slowly, “I don’t see why not... ”

She was getting some of, obviously, but it was Xander who understood. As always—which, actually, wasn’t such a good thing, given today’s realizations. “Sure,” Xander told her, tucking Willow’s hand into the crook of his arm. “We’ll go work on some stuff downstairs. Just shout when you’re done, okay?”

“Okay. And thanks.”

Both smiled at her, although Willow kept shooting Giles and Xander confused looks. Xander just patted her hand and tugged her downstairs. Watching them go, Dawn tried to settle her mind and figure out just how she wanted to do this. She was going to have to be careful. _Really_ careful, if she didn’t want to mess it up. It was going to take all the tact and subtly that she had, and even then there were no guarantees.

So she marched right up to the counter, folding her arms below her breasts and glared. “Cut it out.”

Dawn was perfectly happy embracing her Summers heritage and tact had never been part of it.

Giles’ head shot up, gaping at her for the barest moment before his lips tightened and he reached up for his glasses. “Am I doing something to bother you?” he asked.

Okay, just because she couldn’t _use_ subtly or tact didn’t mean she didn’t know when she was being Britished at. She snorted and continued glaring. “Do you know you sound _exactly_ like Buffy when you do that?” she asked, proud when her voice remained steady as she spoke her sister’s name. “She wasn’t as sneaky about it, but the sulking and the pouting and the passive-aggressive stuff? Classic Buffy. She’d probably be proud—right after she yelled at you.” 

“I have no—”

“And there you go with the hot denials,” Dawn narrated. “Are you going to stamp your foot next?”

“I assure you, Dawn,” Giles snapped, speaking fast enough that he wasn’t going to be interrupted again. “I will not be stamping my feet.”

“Good. Because I’m pretty tired of you feeling sorry for yourself.”

It was a slap. Dawn _knew_ it was a slap, but she didn’t know any other way of saying it and having Giles listen to her. She held her ground while he glared at her, anger a white hot laser that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “What did you say?” he asked.

“I said stop feeling sorry for yourself. You lost _one_ argument, okay? And it was a big one and I’m sorry I acted the way I did afterwards, but I’m _fourteen_ , Giles! I’m supposed to be stupid and selfish and self-centered. You’re supposed to be the dad guy who understands all that and forgives me anyway.”

Almost, Dawn wished she could see the hand-print she knew her words had left on his face. Looking at it might’ve made this conversation less surreal. Giles sagged, glasses clattering onto the counter as he groped behind himself for the small stool Anya had demanded he put there. He seemed hunched and small on it, and Dawn had to force herself not to wince or hurry around the counter to hug him. 

“I—Dawn,” he said slowly, “of course I forgive you. There’s nothing to forgive. I understand that you’re going through a difficult time, and—and—”

Okay, obviously he didn’t. Hopping up onto the counter, Dawn swung herself around until she was kicking her heels against the shelf that held the bags. “And you’re mad at me because I’m not Buffy.”

“I most certainly—”

It was another slap, and Dawn winced since she hadn’t meant that one. Hurriedly, she reached out to take his hand which cut him off mid-sentence. “I’m not saying you blame me, or anything.” When had her voice gone all scratchy and full of tears? “Okay? Not like that. But I went to Spike when Buffy would’ve gone to _you_. And I’m not gonna change my decision because Spike is what I need. But that doesn’t make you any less important, okay? You’re the only Dad I’ve ever really known. I’m sorry I’m not more like her, so that you and Willow can get back whatever you can’t get from me, and I’m sorry I’ve been pushing you away ’cause I didn’t mean to and I _love_ you, you _and_ Willow, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, and I hate that you’re drinking and everybody’s worried and it’s my fault and I don’t know what to do ...”

Tears burned her cheeks only a moment before she was tucked up in Giles’ arms, her face buried against a sweater that smelled of mothballs and peppermint and old smoke. She hadn’t meant to say all that, or burst into tears the way she _still_ did way too much, but Giles wasn’t pushing her away and he wasn’t calling for Xander or Spike to come take care of her, the way he had once before. He was just holding her, humming something softly under his breath as he rocked her back and forth. It was so much like Spike that it made her cry even harder, the similarities painful after her outburst.

“I’m so sorry,” Giles told her. “I never meant to make you feel like that.”

That made her stop sobbing long enough to sniffle, though she didn’t move. “But that’s just _it_. It’s not something you did, and it’s not something bad. It’s just ... I’m not her. I need different things than she does. And it _hurts_ because I want to be what she was, but I can’t—”

“And that is not _your_ fault, either, Dawn,” he interrupted her gently, pushing her away to smooth her hair back from her face. “As you said. It’s not you did, and it’s not bad. It’s just ... hard, without her. And yes, it hurts.”

She sniffled again, glancing up when Xander and Willow moved beside her. Willow was still crying silently, Xander arms locked tightly around her waist so she wouldn’t fall down. Dawn was a little glad and a little upset that Willow had heard. She’d had something planned for her, too, but given how badly this one had gone ... Still half on Giles’ lap, she reached out and took Willow’s hand. “So how do we make it not hurt?” she asked both of them. “How do we make it better?”

Willow sobbed a little, her grip clammy and tight around Dawn’s fingers. “I don’t know, Dawnie,” she said. “I wish I did.”

“How about,” Xander said, his voice low and warm among all the sniffles, “the three of you go have dinner tonight? Maybe catch a movie? Do that talky thing you intellectual people love so much?”

 

Dawn’s first reaction was to say no, what about Spike and Tara—but that was half the problem, she reminded herself grimly. So she nodded, looking up at Giles. “We could go see Shrek? And go to that restaurant you like, Dees?”

“I’d like that. After I wash my face a couple dozen times,” Willow said, smile watery but _there_. “And Giles—you’re driving.”

Dawn immediately turned a pleading face up to Giles, hoping the blotchy skin and red nose would work in her favor instead of against. The pointed tone in Willow’s voice meant that she, too, had noticed Giles’ preferred method of dealing with his pain. Giles sighed under the combined pressure of three pairs of big, blinking eyes, reaching over Dawn’s shoulder to put his glasses back on. “I’m hardly a lush,” he muttered.

“No.” There was a serious note in Xander’s voice Dawn didn’t understand—but it made Giles look up, solemn and ... respectful? ... as Xander spoke. “No, you aren’t, Giles. But it’s still time to stop. Dawn’s right about that.”

“Dawn is right about a great many things. Very well. I believe we all need to wash our faces and then we’ll go out and have a bite to eat? Dawn, check the newspaper for times, please.”

Rubbing her cheeks until she was sure they glowed, but were now dry, at least, Dawn hurried over to the newspapers by the table, flipping them open to the entertainment section. She purposefully didn’t look up at Xander tugged her hair and then slipped out the door. She knew he’d go and tell the others what had happened and that very probably they’d gain a shadow that smoked within an hour. But the point wasn’t to try and deny that it was Tara and Xander and Spike that Dawn meshed with so well. It was that she meshed with Willow and Giles, too—they just had to remember that again.

“Your turn, Dawnie.” Willow moved beside her, reaching out to tug her hair—what was it with people and her hair—then _oophed_ as Dawn wrapped her arms around Willow’s middle. “Dawnie?”

“I love you too, Willow Rosenbooger,” she said fiercely. “Okay? I don’t want you ever forgetting that.”

“Oh, honey. I know that.” Willow held her tightly, her slim, tiny body always surprisingly strong as it gripped Dawn’s. Magic crackled around them, then faded into the kind of glow that made Dawn sniffle. “I always know that. And I already look awful, so don’t make me cry again!”

Giggling, Dawn straightened and scrubbed her face again. “Are we going to be okay?”

“Never doubt it,” Giles answered, coming up to touch both of their shoulders. “One of the things your sister taught all of us, Dawn, was that no matter the misconception or problem—we’re a family. Our roles might change, but our membership is impossible to revoke. And bloody hell, don’t you two start crying again or you’ll make _me_ start!” But he was smiling as he said it, not a hint of his British reserve in the broad, almost boyish grin he sported. “Now, then. Shall we?”

“One sec.” Dawn hurried over to the bathroom, quickly washing her face and trying not to care how she still look like she’d just been crying. Returning, she held out one hand to Giles and one to Willow. It felt weird without Spike by her shoulder or Xander making a quip with Tara’s warmth suffusing them all—but it didn’t feel _bad_. Just weird. Something, Dawn thought as fingers wound with her own, she could totally get used to.


End file.
